


The Half Dead Unicorn

by Photosynthetic_People



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bondage, Breathplay, Choking, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Dreams and Nightmares, Drinking, Drug Use, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Fade Sex, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Recovery, Rope Bondage, Starvation, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-04-16 19:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4636923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Photosynthetic_People/pseuds/Photosynthetic_People
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Dorian nor Niamh know what a proper relationship should look like. Somehow they up in a supportive healthy relationship....Eventually after the death of Niamh’s abusive husband Anarthe; it's a long road to being sane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stop the hurt!

**Author's Note:**

> **Now some simple background crap before hand.**  
>  **Anarthe** is fifty-five, he's tall with a very muscular build, with tan skin. He has short well kept parted grey hair and cold dark brown eyes. His vallaslin is maroon in color and is the simple Elgar'nan design. Anarthe also has a prominent scar from a bear starting on the left side of his chin and moving down diagonally across his neck. Anarthe is a rogue (with a specialization in poisons and being a sociopath.)  
>  **Niamh** is twenty-three he has long, wavy, honey blonde hair that reaches his mid back which he tries to hide behind his bangs that reach down to his cheek bones. His eyes are violet-blue. He has fair skin and freckles. His vallaslin is green and the more complex Sylaise option. He's average height for an elf. Niamh is a spirit healer, and is very adept at casting barriers.   
>  They have been married for four years, only three of which they shared before Anarthe was forced to leave the clan for trying to use Niamh poison the Keeper and become the new leader of the clan by using Niamh as a puppet. Anarthe finds him after the events of conclave. What could possibly go wrong?

Cole stayed with the Inquisition to help the hurt. The Inquisitor said he wanted him to leave because that's what the dark and twisted man wanted. The older elf with grey hair and cold brown eyes. He wants the Inquisitor alone in a place of power. A puppet bending to his every whim. His puppet has more power now, all of belongs to him.The twisted elf had lost a hold of him once, his grip was tighter now. It was hard for Cole to read the Inquisitor the mark made it confusing. Feelings flicker but they are hard to see and grasp.  

Cole heard more of the cold man's thought that night.Twisted, dark and brutal plans. Bitter burning rage and lust. He’d mark his slut’s body and soul. So then he’d know, who owned him.

 

* * *

 

 

Solas was trying to talk to Sera, just as Varric came up to try to defuse the tension between two elves. This kid named Cole materialized next to them all shouting and rambling.""Ma’da'len how good you in agony." He says and means it too!" We have to help! There’s so much pain! Fear and a flesh carved name. The magebane in his veins, burns as a white hot fire. Poison floods deep inside. It cuts off the fade, he cannot escape he cannot hide. He needs help! We need to hurry!”

"Friggin creepy arse pale creep. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shove arrows up your arse! Niamy told you to get out.” Sera shouted as she grasped an arrow from her quiver.

Cole murmured."He didn't mean it. He needs my help. Dancing to his steps. If I obey, if I do what he says then he'll love me again. We need to help! He's so cold, the pain doesn't burn as hotly anymore..."

Sera and Varric didn't expect what they found in the Inquisitors room; Solas had deciphered what the spirit named Cole meant nonetheless he wasn’t quite prepared for what he saw. It was rape, a brutal and violent one.

Niamh's pale freckled skin had become tinted with blue and you could count every one of Niamh's ribs, his spine protruded at well.Anarthe grinned thoroughly enjoying himself as his hand gripped Niamh’s neck and  drug the blade across his cheek.

But the abuse didn’t just stop there, his long honey blonde hair matted with blood, his face was bruised and bloodied. Niamh had been gagged. His arms were bound so tightly above his head that his wrists bled under the rope. The rope that tied his ankles together had caused him to bleed as well.

Solas felt his fury burn deeply as he saw Anarthe licked droplets blood off of Niamh's cheek while he thrust cruelly and relentlessly into the bound elf below him.

Solas reached out to the fade and flung Anarthe far away from his victim into a stone wall. Volleys of crossbow bolts and arrows had been shot into Anarthe before he managed to stand. Cole cut the ropes binding Niamh before he appeared next to Anarthe and slit his throat. All within the time it took for Solas to untie the gag.

Solas knew Niamh was in shock. The young elvhen body shook and shivered uncontrollably as it gasped for air. He cast a sleep spell over him before he used a small amount of healing magic to survey the damage.. He tried to heal the slashed and sliced name in his right side first, it was so unresponsive... it had been made with a blade covered in magebane. He managed to slow the blood enough to stem the threat of imminently bleeding to death.

Solas never had much skill as a healer. He doubted he had the ability to properly heal Niamh’s gaping poisoned wound. He tried to heal the some damage done from the brutal rape; only to run into the same problem. Solas felt his blood ran hot with rage. He had used magebane to lubricate this rape! The pain that the young, timid, curious, spirit healer must have gone through! This went far beyond that of most sadistic tortures.   

 Solas took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Niamh needed his aid, not fury towards his attacker right now. He told himself as he focused on other wounds. He healed the broken, raw and bloody skin from the ropes and tried not to notice the numerous scars on his wrists as he did so. It had been far too long since he had needed to mend bones he decided to leave the broken wrist and ribs be for now. He focused his magic on carefully coaxing the broken body to make more blood using a great amount his own mana to do so. Cole hovered nearby them wordless with worry.

Sera cursed and cried as she fired arrow after arrow into Anarthe. He might have died already but she couldn't stop.

"Buttercup, calm down. The bastard's dead." Varric told Sera.

"Mother puss eating darkspawn shite-brained; Pig shite nosed, horse eating rapist! That fuckin' arse faced, piss bit, shit lickin’ monster! I'll kill 'em until Niamy's better! When he wakes up... we'll kill 'em together!"

"Buttercup, Mouse will be okay. We'll get him healed up and back to normal in no time." Varric knew it was a lie. People didn't just get over shit like this.

"We stand up for the little guys." Sera explained as she started to sob uncontrollably.

Come on, let's go find a spirit healer looks like Chuckles could use some help.” Varric managed to get Sera to leave with him no doubt in large part because she had run out of arrows.

* * *

 

 

Niamh was healed, cleaned and dressed by a trusted middle age spirit healer named Mirabelle. She was a matronly ,slightly overweight woman, with warm, dark skin and black hair. Mirabelle was with him when he woke up;   Not Anarthe. Why? Anarthe always tended to him after a punishment and after sex too. " Where's Anarthe? He should be here." Niamh asked bleary-eyed. "

He gone sweetie you don't need to worry."

"When is he coming back?"

Mirabelle patted his hand. "Sweetie he's dead. Don’ you worry now you're safe. He can't hurt you anymore."

The shem was lying! She had to be! Niamh refused to believe Anarthe was capable of dying. Anarthe kept him safe, he took care of him! Anarthe loved him even after all of the times he’d betrayed his trust, Anarthe didn’t stop loving him. “Liar! He loves me! He can't die! Where is he?!” Niamh shouted as he strained to sit up. His magic flailed wildly, chilling the air and causing the candles and fire to dim as radiating healing magic moved between his fingers with no direction.

Mirabelle shushed him.“Sweetie, if he actually loved you, then you wouldn’t be is such a sorry shape. Now calm down. You shouldn’t be moving so suddenly.”

“That’s not true! I begged him to punish me! H-he didn’t want to hurt me...But I betrayed him, I keep on hurting him. But I want him to keep on loving me! I-if you knew how much we loved each other you would understand!” Niamh managed to get out of bed. He ripped open the thin scabs of carvings on his left side in the process. “I have to find him! This is all a misunderstanding… If we all apologize he’ll still take care of me! He can’t leave me! I can’t lead on my own...I can’t live on my own. I need him, we need him! Haven happened because I was on my own!” Niamh cried convulsing as he fell onto the floor.

Mirabelle knew better than to argue with hysterical bleeding patient; That being said she thanked the Maker Sera wasn’t here.She’d left a few hours ago and with how blunt she was he might have lost complete control of his magic. Mirabelle healed what he opened up and shushed him. She left quietly after he cried himself out. Mirabelle knew she’d have to tell Leliana about his reaction to the news.

* * *

 

Among the inner circle no one took the news well. But no one’s reactions were as erratic as Niamh's and Sera's. They screamed, cried, and yelled at each other. Then they baked cookies, neither of them knew how to make a cookie; So they threw burnt cookies off of the roof laughing as the rock hard cookies landed on the heads of visiting nobles. Varric watched the two blonde elves on the top of the roof as Josephine tried to get them to come down and stop pelting the nobles with burnt baked goods. “I have no idea how they even managed to get up there. They seem to be doing better now at least.” Varric observed.

Cole nodded then explained. “Yes. They help each other, heal each other’s hurt. They're drawn to each other. Both had been picked, intended to be changed. She by a mother, he by a lover. She rebelled the bitter cookies, lies, and cruel remarks made her angry. He obeyed, cruelty broke him down, but he forgot he couldn't live with the memories.”

"Come on Kid let 'em do their thing. I'll teach you how to play a game called wicked grace." Varric said motioning for Cole to follow.

"Why is the game wicked?" Cole asked.


	2. Irrational rationality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh rationalizes and romanticizes his abuse all while he spirals further down into deeply bitter self hatred and blame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm know the Dalish use the term bonded and not husband/wife but I just keep switching back to husband, it looks less off to me. And the fact I started my DA:O life as a female city elf isn't helping much either.

It had been one month and two days since Anarthe was gone. Niamh knew that he wasn't dead; It was hard though, he was still trying to adjust to the fact Anarthe was gone. He left because they were interrupted...The only person that ever cared about him left him, because Niamh did not prove his he was repentant.

 Anarthe is perfect, he’s merciful too. He could have killed everyone in the Inquisition by now. When he first found him Anarthe said he could have. Niamh was corrupted, bitter and angry.  Just remembering how he had acted when Anarthe had found him again made him feel sick.

“Fen’harel kill you and feed you to the wolves, for I have no need for you!” Niamh growled at him the second they were far enough away from prying eyes in the forest surrounding Haven.

 “ _Careful ma’da’len_. Enough poison in the water supply and ale, then a few throats to slit. Everyone would be dead then. It would be just like what happened to that little critter you kept. The one you made me tear in half.” Anarthe’s deep voice held a measured tone. His face was a perfect veneer of calm, his eyes held no hint of the seething rage underneath.  

 “I could end you for threatening so many lives!” Niamh hissed.

“You could end me?  Look at where we are, in a forest. My domain.” Anarthe chuckled darkly before he drew a poisoned dagger from his belt.

Despite his age he’s as fast as ever. Anarthe stood behind him holding the poisoned blade to Niamh’s throat, before Niamh even thought to cast a barrier. Niamh froze as a familiar fear traveled down his spine.

 

_How deep would this cut be?_

_Could he weaken the magebane enough to heal the wound without an antidote before he bled out?_

 

“Call for help. See if anyone comes in time to save you.”

“I am willing to take that chance to get you out of my life!” Niamh growled despite his fear.

“So they come and save you and arrest me? I would tell them all the things you did   _willingly_...What do you think would happen? They’d all cast you aside like the trash you are. Shem’len are fickle. A little flat ear whore like you should know that.”

Niamh tried his best not to whimper, however result was that his voice waivered and cracked as he spoke.“What do you want from me then?”

“Ma’da’len...I just want my little bonded back.” Anarthe whispered in his ear before pressed a kiss on Niamh’s jaw. Anathe withdrew seconds later and left him to think about it.

 

_His husband had given him so many chances after the way he acted, truly he had more mercy than all the Creators and Andraste combined._

 

They had argued over much…after that mistake. Who Niamh was allowed associated with; Who to seek out for allies.

 Anarthe had waited for him, in that little cottage in Haven. “I specifically forbade you from talking to the delusional dwarf, that balding knife ears and that redheaded chantry whore alone didn’t I?! Anarthe hissed as he locked the door. Anarthe kneed him in the stomach and asked rhetorically. “Yet, you think it wise to disobey me?”  

Niamh recalled the bruises he got that night. Expertly placed so no one would know. He healed them shortly thereafter.  He invited The Iron Bull to stay, the next day. Not even caring that it would have displeased Anarthe or that he might be beaten again.  It was Anarthe’s right to hit him, Niamh used to know that!

 

He eventually believed Deshanna when she kept on telling him. All the ideas and lies she put his his head…

“Don’t cry for him, you will waste your tears. If you cry, cry for yourself. Know the whole clan weeps over your suffering. Not a single tear is shed for him.”

“No one deserves what he did to you. Not a single moment was your fault. Regardless you what happened you are faultless. You were a victim.”

“Niamh you so much stronger and braver than you believe. You had courage in you, even after all you have been through. You were strong enough to save not only yourself, and me but the whole clan. Be proud of yourself not ashamed. I know you will make a great Keeper, and lead the clan to great things.”

 _She told him so many lies!_  Niamh had actually began to become comfortable with making decisions for himself! He was doing the single worst act of rebellion just short of harming Anarthe…Thinking on his own, disregarding orders. That was why Haven fell.

 

“Ma’da’len I can’t believe you let so many people die! Just to spite me. I told you to go to the templars. You chose the mages. You chose to slaughter hundreds, men, women and children. So many deaths just so you could be a petty child!” Anarthe shook his head feining disbelief.  If you obeyed my orders we would not have a single casualty. That darkspawn magister would be dead, and the Breach would have been closed.” Anarthe’s deep voice stated colder than ever.

“It’s not true! I tried! I tried to save as many people as I could.” Niamh cried.

“I’m leaving at first light. I won’t be a part of your senseless slaughter of innocents.” Anarthe informed him. Then he left the tent Niamh was still resting in.

The song the shemlen sang was a forlorn one. They had just lost Haven. Niamh wept in silent guilt, he kept trying to convince himself it wasn’t his fault...But it was his choice that lead up to this disaster.  

 

Anarthe was right… Niamh realized just before the dawn. Every single death was his fault. He bore the responsibility for it all. He knew everyone that died that day didn't have too; it only happened because he hadn’t obeyed.

The slowly rising sun, gave him little help as he followed Anarthe’s trail deep into the snow covered woods.  On his hands and knees covered in mud and snow he begged. “Please I need you! I can’t do this on my own I realize that now! I do anything you want! I will take any punishment you give me without complaint! I am begging you! If I can't even save a small village... How can't I save the whole of thedas?!” Anarthe tried to walk past him and he grasped his leg. “Please…” Niamh cried, his tears almost freezing on his frost bitten cheeks.

“You had several chances. Why should I now? Just because you said please?” Anarthe hissed and kicked him aside then continued walking.

Niamh followed. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for everything. Sorry for the banishment! And the deaths, for talking back to you! I can’t be in charge of anything! Let alone myself! I can’t! I jus-” Niamh sobbed and shivered. “Please.”

His vision was made hazy by the snow starting to fall and his own tears. He didn’t see when Anarthe came back. “ _Prove you are sorry ._..one day I may forgive you.” Niamh's heart leapt. it was as close to forgiveness as would come for the moment.

 

Anarthe had every right to hate him. Anarthe couldn't stand being around Niamh, after he acted like he didn't love him...After killed so many people.

What that shem healer and everyone else said was wrong. Anarthe did love him.

Anarthe was just angry and upset, he had every right to hurt him. Anarthe had just been in so much pain he didn't notice Niamh was going into shock. He knew Anarthe still loved him. This had been the first harsh punishment Anarthe had given him. He wanted to wait until Niamh was safe and healthy enough to handle being punished. What was that if not love?

 

He wasn't there to make the decisions. Anarthe would tell him what to say or how to act. Anarthe told him what he should wear, who to associate with and who to avoid. He even had rules on how long he was allowed to sleep. Normally he was allowed to sleep for one to four hours a day depending on how well behaved he’d been. They both knew if he slept to long a demon might posses him. Niamh needs him. In his own way Anarthe loved him, he had to. Why would he have given him all the rules if he didn't?

Niamh struggled with eating the most. Anarthe wasn't there to feed him bites of food by hand while he sat on the floor. He’d give him a cup water too. Sometimes instead of water was a salty acrid drink with a mineral aftertaste. When he drank it, it would made his head spin it was very hard to think on his own. Anarthe would tell him what to do and think, it was safer that way…that way no one else died needlessly.

He doesn’t recall when Anarthe first to fed him by hand only that before he did he was starving.  

Sometimes if he was very good, after they had sex Anarthe would let him lay in the bed with him for a long time a whole twenty minutes! Niamh still struggled to live up to Anarthe’s high but understandable standards. If he passed out, from pain or blood loss it was always his own fault. Anarthe sometimes take care of him when he woke up but only if he felt generous that day.

Niamh knew he couldn’t scream loud or cried cry too loudly; though when Anathe decided to be very rough it was easier said than done.Niamh often struggled to didn’t follow orders exactly particularly when he was completely bound. Before Niamh betrayed the love of his life, he never spoke out of turn. Anarthe’s skinning knives and daggers would come out when he did; But even then because Anarthe loved him enough to run salt and vinegar in his wounds to prevent infection.

Niamh never asked Anarthe to stop… ever. He couldn’t! They were married, it was his duty to please Anarthe as best he could.

Niamh had almost mastered a few of Anarthe’s expectations. Niamh never came before he had permission. He wasn’t even sure if he still could come without permission, he hadn’t in years. He hardly ever lost his erections, no matter how much he was scared. If he could get a handle on the pain then Anarthe would love him even more!  

 

Niamh still slept on the floor by the foot of the bed though, beds were only for worthy people. Now he slept by the door secretly hoping that Anarthe would come back and take care of him. Anarthe was the one that was meant to save Thedas, not Niamh.

 

Dinner with the his companions, and advisers was so difficult! They all wanted him to sit in a chair and feed himself! Not only that but they expected him to choose what he was to eat and drink! Niamh belonged on the floor, furniture was a privilege. Niamh had to be invited, but no one save for Sera seemed to understand that rule...Or maybe she was just  pushy about getting him to sit in a chair and eat food. Sera would give him new things to try. She liked to literally throw them on Niamh’s plate much to Vivienne’s annoyance. Sera had in her own way made it a bit easier for him but only when she was there.

Josephine didn’t allow her to come to dinners with visiting nobles. Sera threw a whole pie in a nobleman's face. Niamh and Sera found it hilarious, but only Bull laughed Dorian did softly snicker into a wine glass.  

Niamh was nothing, he was an ugly, stupid, worthless child. He needed someone to give him purpose, someone to keep him from making bad choices. He needed Anarthe.

 

Later that night in his sleep, he saw Anarthe. It appeared to be night in a like forest his clan traveled though in the spring. Niamh knew he was in the fade, he felt the thrums of magic that only the fade gave off. He wandered amidst the trees and bushes for a few moment he had hoped to find a spirit.

It wasn’t a spirit he found.

It was desire demon that was in the form of Anarthe.

The demon had an eye for detail, everything looked perfect as if it was the real thing. The demon looked and sounded so much like his lover, had it known how lonely he was this whole time?

 

“Ma’da’len, take your clothes off. I made sure were far enough into the forest; no one will see or hear us.” Niamh was hard as soon as he heard deep rumble of Anarthe’s command. He started to peel his clothes off was naked in a matter of seconds. “Get on your knees and suck. Make sure you get it wet enough to properly fuck you.”

Niamh took him into his mouth, and rolled his tongue over the head. The imitation of Anarthe growled just like the real one when he did this. He fucked the back of this throat too, just the same way. "You're so lucky I decided to give chance to a worthless creature. Now you have a purpose. Without me you would be lost wouldn’t you? Ma’da'len such a dirty, ugly slut. Don’t worry I’ll always be here to give your life meaning."

The imitation stepped back and waved its hand to gathered enough mana to summon a rope. With a smile just like his love would wear, as he bound him, Niamh’s wrists were bound tightly together the remainder of the rope was hoisted above a tree branch high above him to keep him standing. But unlike when this usually happened there was no noose around his neck. Niamh could keep both feet flat on the ground without the threat his air flow cut off.

Niamh moaned as his long honey hair was pulled harshly enough that it forced him to arch his back. With his back arched the that rope bound his wrists together and then to the tree branch above him cut into his flesh, his fingers tingled as they began to lose their blood flow. He felt the familiar painful burning of being entered. He gasped when he felt the imitation as it began move. It stung, the pain shot through his body, but he felt just enough pleasure to keep him hard. Niamh struggled not to yelp when he felt Anarthe almost pull out only to push back into him with more force than before. The pace of movement is so brutal tears prickle in Niamh's eyes. "Please! Anarthe, please!" he begged.

"What's the matter? Does it hurt you and you want to stop? Don't you love me?" His lover growled then bit his neck hard enough to draw blood. Niamh felt a shiver of fear run down his spine.

"No! Don't stop! Please! I love you more than anything! Anarthe, I swear nothing else matters to me other than you!" Niamh panicked but stilled once he felt Anarthe grab him by the throat. The tighter the hands around his throat better everything felt; He's felt so controlled like this unable to breathe, falling apart but unable to climax without Anarthe until Anarthe said he could. Spots are danced in his vision and his chest heaved in a futile attempt for air.

Just as he feels like he might die, Anarthe ordered. "Come for me ma'da'len." Niamh does, and he felt Anarthe release inside of him. "Ma'da'len, you are such a good little thing." Anarthe whispered praises as he untied him gently. "I love you ma'da'len." Niamh felt so happy he had wanted Anarthe to say “I love you” for years, but he never...

Then Niamh  remembered. "You're not Anarthe...I'm in the fade.”

It purred haughty as it asked rhetorically.“Is this so bad?”

“It can be like this forever just the two of us. All you have to do is let me in. Just let me help you ma’da’len. Talk to me, I can’t read you anymore. I need you to help me, tell me what you want.” It whispered in his ear as it curled its arms around him pulling him close.

“I don’t know what I want. I know you're just mimicking him. The sad thing is I don’t care.” Niamh sighed sadly as he leaned into the contact.

After a few moments of silence Niamh asked.“Why do this? Pretend to care... You only want to posses us right?”

The demon laughed. “My name is not You. I’ve told my name before I am Xaria.” The demon informed him.

Xaria reached out and ran its fingers through Niamh’s wavy blonde locks.  “We are hardly strangers you and I.  _Perhaps_ over the years _I_ have grown the _desire_ to help _you_.”

 

Niamh woke up in shame, covered in his own semen and self loathing. He’s such a worthless, disgusting mage! He could not even resist a single Demon! Thedas would end! He could not save it! How could he? Anarthe isn’t there to give him any meaning now he is falling apart.


	3. Throw the book at 'em?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh panics at the sudden responsibly he now has, something he that firmly he believes is rightfully Anarthe's. He finds a distraction from his panic with a shipment of books.

Josephine’s voice seemed to echo across the empty stone hall as the charges against the man were read. Vaguely Niamh can feel life auras reacting to his errant healing magic. Closed his eye for moments and tried to focus lest his magic run haywire do to his panic attack. Josephines the closest to him. Alexius was accompanied next to two templars. Cassandra felt the need to guard an exit, Leliana was there as well where Niamh couldn’t guess. Dorian was somewhere in the hall farther away half attempting to hide.

Niamh opened his eyes after he gained control and long after the charges had been read. His violet-blue eyes looked around the room before settling on the magister’s chest, it was not eye contact but not many people would be able to tell he hoped.

It was silent for quite sometime. Niamh took a deep breath, stood up and tucked some strands of hair behind his right ear. “My keeper once told me the young make mistakes and this how is you learn. _Teldirthalelan ,_ on the other hand are fools.They make mistakes and never see any errors in the path they walk. Your son chose his path, he chose give his life to prevent you from making a grave mistake. Honor his wish and try to be the man your son believed you were. Or be a Teldirthalelan, spurn the gift you son has given you act like a fool and howl and curse Thedas...That much is still up to you.”

Niamh’s tried to hardened his voice just like Keeper Deshanna would. “Your punishment is to aid the inquisition with our magical research, and to live with the knowledge of what would have happened if you succeeded. Your pet project worked. I saw that future. Felix was trapped within his own hollow husk of a body, he wasn’t even able to breathe without consistent magical support. You had spent the rest of your life waiting for death and lamenting on your choices. Dar'eth.”  Niamh started to retreat as soon as he said an informal elvhen goodbye.

Josephine had to admit she wasn’t sure what to expect, but he seemed to be able to make choices. As he did in the past. It was a great relief to know that despite all that had happened... He was, perhaps not as bad off as they had feared.

Josephine looked at Cassandra and realized she’d just have to smooth the Inquisitors choice over with Cassandra now...Not to mention the Chantry. Paperwork would have to drawn up as well.

Leliana’s heart went out to the Inquisitor. He reminds her so much of her beloved Tabris. She had been through much, then responsibility thrust upon her. The maker guided her love, just as he now guides this young man. She will pray for him later once she had a moment to herself she decided.

 

Niamh knew he messed up. He just didn’t have the stomach to make the hard choices! If Anarthe were here he’d be in the throne instead. Anarthe would be comfortable shouldering that responsibility. Niamh managed to retreat into a hallway before he started to hyperventilate. Niamh held his right side. The name of his beloved felt so taut on his skin; It hurt when he hyperventilated and would open back up and bleed if he wasn’t careful too. If Anarthe was here he would have healed by now! Anarthe took good care of him. Now he was gone! The others stupidly interrupted his punishment and Anarthe left him!

“Maker’s third penis! Oh, Creators have mercy! I have no idea what I’m doing! Everyone’s going to die! Fenedhis! We’re all going to fucking die. I can’t do this without him. I can’t!” Niamh whimpered and sobbed as he curled up into a ball in the corner of the hallway leading to Anarthe quarters that he generously shared with Niamh.  

 

Dorian followed the Inquisitor into the corridor, merely to thank him for sparing his former mentor’s life… What he ended up with was a panicking ball of Inquisitor in a hall. Dorian wasn’t the best at comforting people. He’d learned that much over the years. The best option for comforting someone was to offer a bottle of good wine and a semi-sincere letter of condolences. Sadly Dorian doubted it would work right now; and not just because he didn’t know the Inquisitors taste in wine.

“Are you alright?” Dorian asked.

Niamh stood up suddenly and wiped his eyes.He was still hyperventilating even as he managed to stutter out. “H-How long have yo-you been h-he-here?!”

Dorian almost winced, almost, Dorian was nothing if not very proficient in controlling how he portrays himself. Try to keep everyone friendly but at an arms width,Pavus; He kept reminding himself, not that he ever seemed to pay attention to his own advice.

“Long enough to hear how well endowed the Maker is.” He said nonchalantly. Eventually, far longer than Dorian was comfortable with,the Inquisitor stopped hyperventilating enough to talk normally. “If you’ve come to scold me… Please just get on with it.” Then he mumbled to himself far too soft for any human to hear. “Waiting for a punishment is worse than receiving it.” Dorian blinked. This time he’d been caught so off guard his facade faltered. “I actually intended to thank you for sparing his life.”  

Niamh was dumbstruck; Someone actually thought he made a good decision?

“Why?” Niamh blurted out unable think of anything else to say.

“Why? Well, I suppose perhaps I was expecting the worst. Considering all he had done and was trying to accomplish; It wasn’t as if I could ask you for leniency.  Not without painting an even larger target on my very well dressed back.”

Had he been lenient? Niamh couldn’t guess what Anarthe would have chosen… So he imitated Keeper Deshanna… He hadn't expected anyone to be happy with his choice.   

 

Shyly obscured under his hair Niamh nodded.“When someone is fixated on their goal they lose sight of everything else. It seemed like a waste to kill anyone over that. Considering that every death has an effect this seemed the best option.” Keeper Deshanna said that to him after she banished Anarthe. The irony he’s quoting her, now after Anarthe had left. was not lost on him. But it’s easier to pretend to be a leader like Keeper Deshanna until Anarthe returns.  

 

Dorian sighed, the more he thought about it the more somber his mood became. Could he have been able to prevent this if he had stayed with his mentor? Instead he selfishly grieved Felix's condition by avoiding the idea all together... He used copious amounts of alcohol and numerous men to bury how he felt. Perhaps if he was there with them, sober the outcome would have been different.

Time to change the subject before he becomes permanently dour for the rest of the evening then he'd need to spend the rest of the night getting mind numbingly drunk over the guilt...again. “We just got a crate new books delivered today. Would you’d like to take a look at them?” Dorian asked.

 

  
  "So are you’re the origin of the insane librarian rumors then? I should have known once the description was a mustached human with crazy eyes that breathes fire. Not that you have crazy eyes, or anything...Ir abelas...I mean I’m sorry... ” Niamh looked down at his feet as he followed Dorian to the library.

“What does “‘ur abellas’” mean exactly? I’ve heard you say it quite often but I’m not entirely sure what it means." Dorian asked.

“Ir abelas you mean? Your pronunciation is horrid by the way. It translates two ways the literal translation would be, my sorrow.  I suppose it’s closer to my apologies or I’m sorry.” Niamh explained as they entered the library.

Bookshelves filled with large and dusty tomes seemed to be the main feature in the room other than a single plush chair. Cobwebs still inhabited the left corner next to the window. The room looked like it had undergone a great deal of cleaning nonetheless.

Dorian ever the showman took the lid that had been nailed the crate off with a wave of his staff. “Now then let us hope this donation hold some intellectual value.”

 

Niamh peaked into the crate of books that had been donated. One title drew his attention more than the others.“The truth of the Wilde Elves and other Fey? What in the void does _fey_ mean? Now I want to know what kind of weird imaginative lies are in this.” He looked through the index. “Chapter one: Sacrilegious religion. Oh goody, a biased Chantry sponsored gem." Niamh said with a quiet sarcasm. "Chapter two: The barbaric killers and kidnappers…maybe in Antiva...Chapter three: Orgies? I don’t even know where all the myths about orgies comes from.” Niamh giggled softly.

 

“So what is it like to be Dalish then?” Dorian asked curiously. He hardly had a chance to properly interact with the Inquisitor at Haven.

 

“According to this book we’re all a bunch of wild semi-nude elves that run around sacrificing human children to our gods and cursing their lands...And having indiscriminate sex with each other.” Niamh laughed a little and smiled as he continued to flip through the book then he put it down and continued to look in the crate.

“We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.  I am not sure we’re easy to sum up. Is there anything particular you want to know about?”

 

“Considering most of what I have read of the Dalish is entirely false, any information would be an improvement.” Dorian admitted. Encountering a culture that everything he read about was false apart from the face tattoos had left him fairly curious. He never saw any Dalish walk around even half as naked as he’d read, not that he blamed the Dalish. Just the idea of going outside with no shirt on gives him the onsets of hypothermia and it’s not even winter yet!  But even that way the Inquisitor spoke itself was slightly different than the Southerners. Do the Dalish have accents like this?

 

“I can start with the way we lead the clans...The clan’s leader is called a Keeper. I was the Keepers First. I suppose that would be an equivalent to being an apprentice. If she passed on, I was to take her place as Keeper of the clan. In clan Lavellan the Keeper serve as a leader and spiritual guide… But they don’t lead alone. The Hahrens leads us too, they help the children remember our history. The Hahren and Keeper work together to lead the clan. We have other roles of leadership too like Craftsmaster, Warleader, Hearthmistress, and Halla Keeper.”  

“Are they are mages too then these other leaders? Like your Keeper’s?” Dorian asked.

“It’s uncommon for a clan to have a large number of mages...The templars tend to regard one or two mages in a Dalish clan with less priority, because the whole clan protects us... Taking one or two apostates out or arresting them wouldn’t be worth the large casualties.” Niamh pulled a well worn book of limericks and children's songs. It held a few Niamh used to sing when as a little boy and lived in Ferelden with his mother. Templar’s Time for Tea and The King of Ashes had been his childhood favorites. Looking back they both seem much darker now. He mused for moment.

 

Niamh tried to continue the explanation, after his momentary distraction.“However the more mages in the clan the greater the priority becomes for them. That said our clan including me has five mages in total. Keeper Deshanna, Hearthmistress Illia, Baib the Keepers second, Deshanna’s child Mythirian and myself... That’s a very high number. It’s a great deal safer for them now that I’m not there.”

“I see.” Dorian jaw tightened. Kaffas! Was no aspect of a southern mages life not affected by templars?! He knew the south was a backwards place where magic was feared. Nonetheless he had _hoped_ there was some kind of aspect that wasn’t ruled by their misguided fear magic. Dorian sighed. That was most of the problem with the mages and templars started though he supposed.

Niamh peered back into the crate. He was curious about what else was in the donation of books, it was just uncomfortable now.

Should he leave now?  He mumbled uncomfortable with Dorian's terse response and the silence that followed.“Ir abelas  I-”

“Forgive me, I just find the views on magic down south rather depressing. I suppose that’s why the rebellion happened in the first place isn’t?” Dorian cut Niamh off and ended his half thought out excuse to retreat.

 

Niamh breathed a sigh of relief it was just over the rebellion, good he hadn’t done anything grievously wrong yet.

“When it first started I thought: It's a shemlen problem, it has nothing to do with us. The way Deshanna described it made me change my mind. She said. “This Rebellion is like a plague it affects everyone. It sweeps over the countries. While some pretend their is no sickness, they avoid the problem. We cannot afford too. Only by acknowledging that there is a problem can people get better.” Niamh found a copy of a ten year old farmer’s almanac; Why someone would keep it that long he had no idea.

 

Dorian thought about what this Deshanna had said. She has more wisdom that he would have expected from any southern apostate. Perhaps that was because these Dalish were last few remnants of the ancient elves?  

 

Niamh pulled out a book about the history of boat building while Dorian ruminated. “The History of Boat Building: A Sailors Guide of the Ages…" Niamh read the title out loud.

He opened the book and skimmed over few pages. "I’m beginning to think this was a passive aggressive gift. You’d have to search for books this boring.” Niamh observed, paused then added. “Sorry, Am I talking too much? I've been told I do that... You can feel free to tell me to shut up and leave...If I’m rambling, or I'm bothering you... ”

 

“I rather like it, being able to talk to you without being under the constant threat of death it's nice. Don’t you agree?” Dorian continued to talk, while Niamh was wondered if Dorian liked that he was rambling or liked talking while to him not under duress. The former more comforting than the latter; It had to be the latte. Anarthe would have to slap, kick or punch Niamh to get him to stop talking. No one liked to hear him talk for long periods of time.

Niamh caught the end of what Dorian was saying something about an attic maybe? “Could you repeat that?” Niamh asked.

“If I must; Though I find it very off putting that you wouldn't pay attention to someone as wonderful and interesting as me. I asked if it’s true that the clans are all nomadic?” Dorian huffed.

 

“I think so...I can't speak for every clan, but most travel. Most clans travel often for several reasons, we spend most of our time in the forest hunting game we follow the game through the seasons. We also scout the land for ancient Elvhen runes. It's our duty to seek remnants of our lost history and preserve them. The other reason we move around often is self preservation. If the Dalish are a single target stationary group like a town or city we might end up the target of another Exalted March... And that was despite what the Chanty says about it, it was not our fault.” He stressed not our fault as he watched a rat scamper across the floor and wiggle into a hole in a shelf.

 Dorian groaned. He spied yet another copy of the Chant of Light in Orlesian in the crate, that made five copies they had now. “Yes, perfect. Just what I wanted. Because clearly we need more Chants of Light in Orlesian. As if the four we have weren’t more than enough.”

"Any other questions about us that you want answered?" Niamh asked.

 

“You mean you don’t all run around tattooed naked in the moonlight forests having sex? What a shame. The only thing I came down to the blasted south for, and it wasn’t even true.” Dorian sighed exaggeratedly pretending to be put off.

“Yes the evil magister came all the way down here to watch the “‘wild barbaric elves’” fornicate in the woods and help us curse the farmlands. What a master plot.” Niamh tucked his bangs back behind his ear as he laughed freely and full of mirth. Dorian wondered. Had the Inquisitor always had stunning purple eyes or was it just a trick of the light?

 

“Do you know you have rats in here? I just saw one wriggle into that bookshelf.” Niamh asked.

“Vishante kaffas! They’ve been eating the books!” Dorian shouted. Startling both the birds and Niamh. “...and now I need to find the library a cat. _Fantastic_.” Dorian griped. Honestly, why did nothing in Skyhold appreciate the books?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I though this might be nice to have a slight break from the angst. I also thought Dorian actually should ask more questions about the Dalish. It would be relative unknown culture to him. Even if they had anything books had about the Dalish in Tevinter the information would be false and biased. Niamh still has a sense of humor, even as broken as he his. His humor is one of the few Anarthe never quite managed to break him of.


	4. Ale for what ails ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh goes into a tavern 'cause Sera's friggin awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the long wait, I got stuck on what to do next.   
> A special thanks to the amazing Mystyrious, who commented that they liked this and offered to beta this. <3

It's late in the morning when the chargers return. They amble into the tavern to have their celebratory drinks, after the drinks they already had.  
Bull spotted Niamh sheepishly follow Sera inside.

The sudden deference, drastic weight loss, social withdrawal and the unwillingness to look anyone in the eye. He should have seen it.  
They made him think that his changes in behavior was centered on the guilt of Haven.  
They even had him fooled. Him. The Iron Bull!  
It’s not like he was young Orlesian bard. _He’s a mother fucking Ben-Hassrath_!

How many times did he have a chance to intercede,only to assume Niamh was just grieving and being comforted by that asshole!?

Bull recalled every word of bastards lies.“He's never accepted death well, When we first met, I found a little boy if the forest crying. He'd been the the clan for a week or two but we had never spoke to one another. Saw a sport kill, one of the nobles made. Niamh wept for most the day about that headless stag. He should come around eventually, just give him time.” Bull watched for any significant signs in Anarthe’s face or body language as he spoke then…If he tried harder back then he could have caught on!  
It should have been obvious!

Bull had noticed Niamh would look for him; like a dog that searches for its dead owner. It bothered him, and Bull wasn't sure if it bothered him more because he was his friend or that a bas would act more like saarebas that lost a handler than some saarebas he had to kill in Seheron.

Bull has seen him look for that dead bastard a few times, not to kill him...No that would be normal. He missed him.

Bull squeezed the tin tankard tightly and it crumpled in his hand. _Why don't they have Qunari safe tankards here yet?_  
“Chief you all right?” Krem asked.  
Bull nodded. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking. Let's get back to the celebration.”

Bull watched as Niamh retreated with Sera to her room where she could be heard cackling. “This ‘ill be so friggin great!” Sera must not have told him she was one of the ones who offed ‘em...Wonder if Sera’s smarter than she acts? Or was that Red’s influence?

* * *

 

 

Today Sera friggin’ outdid herself! She coaxed Niamh into sitting on a chair in the tavern during normal everybody drinking hours! It took a bit of work to ignore his excuses here but she got ‘em! She pulled him along to a good place to sit. Next to Varric and her ‘course.

Niamh was rather overwhelmed by the crowd, he only noticed that Dorian and Varric sat around a table after he was shoved into an accompanying chair. As soon as he sat down Sera left and she left him…alone in a crowded place!  
He panicked had he done something to offend her?!  
Why was she mad at him?!

She came back and he breathed a sigh of relief even as Sera bellowed while she dropped both a bowl and tankard onto the table, sloshing bits of thick brown heavy stew and dark ale on the table. "Drink this an’ eat a friggin bowl of stew! ‘Fore you start blown' ‘round like an elfy wind-charm thing."

Niamh took a sip of the ale and his eyes went wide. It tasted amazing, it had a odd complexity bitter pine trees and sour fruit danced smoothly on his tongue. "Told ya he'd like it! Hand it over. You both owe me a sovereign!” Sera exclaimed.

“Now I refuse to give you a coin until I hear what our lovely inquisitor has to say about it.” Dorian said and looked at him expectantly.

“I, um… I like it. It tastes like pine trees, sour blackberries, a bit like pine nuts too. It’s good.” Niamh mumbled shyly into the tankard.

Sera laughed, It sounded rather like a cackle if you asked Dorian. “See I told you! Niamy an’ me, we know what’s good ‘round here.” Sera added with a grin and gave Niamh a firm pat on the back. Then she held out her hand. “Hand over the gold, magey britches!”

Dorian looked shocked for a moment that anyone could like the bizarre ale. Then he recovered his wits. “I suppose there's no helping people's poor tastes in the South.” He remarked as he gave the coin to Sera’s waiting hand.

“I’ve never heard someone describe an ale like that Mouse. Must, really like it then.” Varric grinned as he shuffled a deck of cards.

Niamh nodded as he took another sip it tasted pleasant, it even had bubbles that made him smile too.

“Varric, why did you give him the nickname Mouse?” Dorian asked. He’d tried to figure it out on his own of course. Sadly he had gotten nowhere, other than the Inquisitor was not overly fond of cheese nor did he have big teeth.

“That saying about people who are really quiet and polite: “They’re as quiet as a mouse in a chantry.” Anyway “Chantry Mouse” seemed a bit of an off for a Dalish mage. So, just went with Mouse.” Varric explained with a shrug.

“Such charming saying you Southerns have down here. It’s a small wonder you aren't bastions of intellectual writings.” Dorian replied as he mentally groused, though he showed no hint of it on his face. He did every so often, forget about all the idioms they had down in the south. They had so damned many, just when he thought he’d heard or read them all another would be thrown at him.

“Niamy eat your friggin stew. You’re skinnier than I am! An’ that’s a problem.” Niamh scrutinized the stew it had chunks of carrots, potatoes, peas, and meat. It was chunked light colored meat… was it pork or chicken? Niamh tried a bit of it, it was better than he expected. Thought it needed less sage and more thyme. The stew was good not near as good as the ale though… It felt odd eating without Anarthe, it wasn’t wrong any more just odd like he'd done it before but forgot he ever fed himself. Little things spark to life in the back of his mind. Memories like how he used to use a knife and fork; The time he bit down on a spoon when he was a little boy and cracked his baby tooth.  
When he wondered how far back these memories of before go a wave of nausea almost floored him. Niamh found he had little appetite for the soup after that. The ale’s bubbles however made him smile. The more he drank the warmer his cheeks felt the sparks memories for a moment faded.

They all continued to drink as Varric taught Niamh to play Wicked Grace while they played the game.

“It would make more sense to tell him how to play before we started wouldn’t it?” Dorian said while he tried to use his magic to switch cards without being noticed.

“Now, that would take all the fun out of it.” Varric laughed and made a motion for Flissa to come over. “I saw that Sparkler, switch ‘em back.” Varric said as he tapped the card deck.

Dorian was savoring his third glass of not unpalatable bottle of Riesling from some vineyard near Starkhaven, it’s rather sweet for Dorian’s tastes but it's far better than the mulled and maybe pissed in vinegar they tend to pass off as wine.

Varric was drinking some very expensive brandy that he wouldn't share. Though, not for Dorians lack of trying.

After Niamh finished his second glass of ale Dorian had him try the wine. “I insist. You need at least drink a sip of something other than that dark, dubious ale tonight.”

Sera blew a raspberry and blew spit all over her cards in the process. “Oh look at me I'm a fancy britches magey arse. I drink grape-piss-ling...Whatevers.”

Dorian refilled the glass of wine and Niamh looked at the glass. “It looks so delicate. Are you sure it’s not going to shatter if I touch it?”

“Yes, I am quite sure you won’t shatter it by touching it. I have been drinking from the same glass and I am perfectly fine and just as attractive as ever.” Dorian answered before quickly looking back at Varric to make sure the dwarf wasn’t cheating.

Niamh looked at Sera unsure about what he should do in this situation. Sera just guzzled the rest of her ale and belched loudly. Niamh realized he really needed to find someone else to give him advice on social situations...

Niamh picked it up the glass itself felt thin, the wine smelt sweet floral. He took a small sip. “That… That tastes rather sweet. It’s weird almost like I’m drinking like grapes and apples.” Niamh said as he gave the glass back to Dorian.

“Heathens! The both of you! Preferring a Dark Ale of all things to a Riesling.” Dorian said with a laugh as he took back the glass.  
“Ir abelas! I truly didn’t mean to offend you, by disagreeing to your tastes.” Niamh bowed his head slightly.

“Niamy we’ve talked about this! All that bowing shit-backed apologizing you do. Stop it.” Sera was slurred she was somewhere around her fourth or fifth ale and a large helping of barley wine.

“Ir abel-” Niamh began.

“-No. Stop saying sorry all elfy. Also stop being sorry. Never be sorry unless you cock it all up. It's not that.. Like you will though. Yeah? You ain’t a pissbag hole. You aren't the type to ever be a pissbag. That’s why we get on so well. Like ah-umm, beehives an’ fun.” Sera told Niamh as she poked his forehead as if she was going to poke what she just said into his brain with her finger.

“So then, I see you don’t mind that the Inquisitor is a mage then?” Dorian prodded.

“Ugh, just shut up. I dunno. He doesn't go about waving his tool around in everyone's face while he goes shoot magic out of it.” Dorian and Varric laughed for quite a while both Sera and Niamh failed to see what what so funny.

“I fold.” Dorian said with a slight flourish, once he stopped laughing.

Sera nicked a fresh baked loaf of raisin bread from a drunken merchant seated nearby in the time it took Varric to reshuffle the cards. She ate a fourth of the ill gotten baked goods then declared. “I’m so friggin full I might shit a druffulo tomorrow!”

“Thank you Sera for that horrible image you have put into my brain.” Dorian griped.

Sera shrugged then snorted. “Didn’t make you think about it, weirdy. Hey Niamy finish this for me I don’ want it to go bad.” Sera threw the loaf of sweet raisin bread towards him. The bread hit him in the face. At least it wasn’t mashed potatoes she threw this time...Those always got caught in his hair, took forever to wash out too.

Niamh pulled a small portion off to nibble on just to be polite.

Creators it had been many years since he'd tasted honeyed cinnamon bread! He devoured the small portion he had ripped off and reached for another. Niamh was just about to put his cards down to get more bread.

 

Varric leaned and touched him.

Varric had intended to over looked at his cards and give him some friendly advice; The second he touched Mouse’s arm, he became terrified. Almost jumped onto Sera’s lap. Varric sighed as he took his hand away. Poor Mouse was still pretty messed up. Couldn't even handle being touched. “Mouse if you can’t talk about any of it. Have to tried writing it down? It might help. Also, that hand’s no good I’d fold if I were you.”

 Niamh put a few silver into the betting pot absentmindedly as he took another hunk of the bread to devour. “You mean like how you wrote the Champion of Kirkwall book? I don’t think that would help.”

“No if anything it’d be more like a personal journal. Hawke kept one you know, wrote everything in it. If you do write one make sure it’s in cypher. Isabella got a hold of Hawke's, almost embarrassed him half to death reading it out loud.” Varric won the pot.

Niamh yawned, he’s always been tired, he’s had nightmares ever since he married. They never made any sense disjointed and chaotic. Further proof he needed Anarthe. He wasn’t even able to keep himself safe in the fade a place mages were supposed to be able to control. “I think I will try to get some rest... If that is okay with everyone.” Niamh mumbled.

Sera groaned. “Just say goodnight, like normal people.”

Niamh nodded. “Sorry. goodnight everyone.”

“Stop sayin’ sorry!” Sera yelled so loud he could hardly hear if Dorian and Varric said goodbye.

 

Niamh walked to his room tired but rather content. Niamh seldom ever slept.  
Anarthe said he has nightmares because he’s a weak worthless mage that can’t protect himself.

This night is different.

For the first time in quite a while, he went to sleep quickly on his nest of blankets and pillows on the floor.

However Niamh did not sleep soundly.

Niamh’s with Anarthe in his aravel. His arms were tied behind his back wrist to elbow. A tight rope around his throat, acts as a leash. It kept him close to a support beam in the aravel hidden by a curtain. “If you don’t drink it I won’t be held responsible for the consequences.” Anarthe told him coldly as he held a vial of the bitter drink.

“Fen’harel take you to the void! I refuse to drink your poisons!” He spat in Anarthe’s face.

Anarthe sighed then he grabbed Niamh's pet squirrel Claw and tore her head off off right in front of him. He’d cared for her ever since found as a baby, covered with owl claw marks, alone in the forest. Now because of him Claw is dead, her tail twitched and for a brief second he felt hope. She’s still alive!

Anarthe dropped her like she was nothing! Claw’s lifeless body blood flows from her neck.

“To the void with my vows! I will kill you!” Niamh yelled.

“You only have yourself to blame for this. We both know that.” Anarthe informed him, a note of causal condisention in his voice like he was speaking to a child that broke their first bow. Anarthe gripped the rope tied around his neck and pulled upwards sharply as he turned him around.

“If you drank it I might have even been nice enough to let you adjust, Ma’da’len.” Anarthe growled as he thrust up into Niamh.

Pain shot through him he felt like he was being torn in half again this time his magic being drained from inside-out. It was pure agony even worse than the first, second or third time. He screamed himself hoarse long before Anarthe to climaxed inside of him. The heat of his seed added to the feeling of being slowly stripped of his magic and being torn open and raped. The agony is far too unbearable, he started heave his stomach contents despite being barely able to breathe. Niamh’s vision faded, he couldn't hear anything but his own heartbeat.

He woke up later laying on a bed, Anarthe tenderly touched his neck. His arms are still bound but Anarthe must have loosened the rope Niamh was able move his arms slightly. “Everything I do is for your own good, Ma’da’len. The last thing you need if for the clan to find out that you have refused me.”

The room spun when Niamh tried to move away from Anarthe’s grasp and Niamh closed his eyes. “Would you like a healing potion, Ma’da’len?”

He still begged even with his voice faint and broken. “Yes, please.” Niamh knew it would be spiked with whatever Anarthe has been using to sever his connection to his magic.

Anarthe helped him sit up then opened the a small bottle. He carefully poured it into his mouth Niamh drank it as he silently wished that he’d die from the poison and Falon’din would take him far away.

“Remember I do care for you, no one else in the clan does.” Anarthe kissed forehead. “They can hear your screams and they don’t care. I don’t want to you hurt. Nor do I want you to be shamed by the clan for disobeying your bonded.”

Niamh wanted to argue but the rape followed by whatever healing potion he just drank left him so tired.

The fade fizzled and became more fluid allowing Niamh to navigate and escape it. What kind of demon made him have nightmares like that? He woke up and wept into the blanket he had been asleep on.


	5. A brother’s recollection: part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niamh's brother Idrillas remembers when a little mage boy joined the clan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It ended up longer than I intended.  
> Josh’arri’calla= mancala. Dalish children need games to play. A game where all you need is divots in the ground or in a wood board and stones seemed like a good fit.  
> Also bonus points for anyone who can spot the three elves with names that came from other games.

Nineteen years ago, two Ferelden's _,_ both young, blonde haired city elves trailed along the muddy rain soaked path that the Dalish are said to travel. Both wore soggy roughspun wool clothes and thin leather boots caked with mud. One was a mother, rather beautiful for a flat ears. By the looks of her she appeared really young even holding her very small son. Neither are precisely what the clan’s scout Nirni was expected to see that raining day. Nirni reported it to the head scout Faen’dal, who made the decision to lead them to the rest of the clan.

 

Idrillas remembered when his brother joined the clan. He might only been just twelve years of age at the time; but back then his parents never rush him off to hahren Koltira to get him out of the way. He used to pretend it had more to do with his maturity and less to do with the fact that even after so many years, they still saw him as just an _elf blood_ and even now so many years later, a few clan members didn't want him around.

 

The mother introduced herself as Shraeya Revas. Niamh Revas, her son needed sanctuary from the Templars. He was a mage. The little kid, Niamh held tightly to his mom's arm. “Momma can we go home? I wanna go home, I miss home.” Idrillas heard the little kid sniffle. Little kids were such cry babies.

 

“Your son is rather young to join our clan. He will need someone to raise him. Would be willing to join us for your son?” The Keeper Deshanna mused aloud.

 

“Wha’d I’d be of use for 'ere? ‘Side from workin’ in taverns an’ brothels I ‘ave nothin’. No skills you'd need!” Shraeya shrugged frustrated, exhausted and sore. She'd travel so long and far to find a clan. She’d be damned ‘fore they writ her son off just ‘cause she ‘ad to _‘ave_ worked as a whore to make ends meet!

 

“My boy, ‘e's a mage, you need ‘em and ‘e needs you! Please, I already lost two! I can’t ‘ave ‘em take ‘nother one of my babies to a tower! I need to know at least one of ‘em will be able to see the sun and be happy.”

 

“Momma, momma p’ease don' leave me ‘ere! I won't do no more magics! I promise! Momma!” Niamh cried and he held on tight his mother’s arms as she tried set him down.

 

“Niamh, one day you'll understand I ‘ad to leave you ‘ere. Shh, shh, It’s okay baby.”

Shraeya took off a necklace and placed it around her son's neck. It was a simple sunburst symbol of the Chantry carved out of oak and hung on a fraying flax cord. “‘Never forget ‘bout Andraste jus' ‘cause they wan’ you too. ‘Member she died so the Maker’d be happy, so we should make sure to thank ‘er right.”

 

"'Ill you come back to get me an' take me home? After the templars don' wanna look for me no more." Niamh asked his mom.  

"Can't baby, they don' stop lookin' for mages. You be good now, try to listen to 'em Dalish 'sept 'bout Andraste." Shraeya hugged him tightly with tears in her eyes.

 

It never got easier sayin’ goodbye. Shraeya’s firstborn son Leigh, died from fever a few months after he was born. ‘Er two little girls, identical twins bright blue eyes just like she ‘ad. With mops of ashy blonde hair. Smart as a whip the two of ‘em ‘ad been her pride an’ joy.  Abria an’ Kara were taken from ‘er. Just days shy of ‘em turnin’ nine. Kara lit a shem boy on fire in the market an’ when templars came tryin’ to take Kara away; Abria managed to shove one of ‘em templars away from her sister with only ‘er will… Shraeya doesn't even know if they're together or still alive... With Niamh she ‘ad a chance to do better, no matter ‘at it hurt.She gave him a final kiss on the cheek then started to head back. Longer she stayed ‘ere the harder it’d be on both of ‘em. She could hear her son screaming for her _._

 _Can’t look back._ If she did she might stay, if she stayed the Dalish’d change ‘eir minds ‘bout lettin’ ‘er boy stay with ‘em.

 

Shraeya made it back to Wycome, later that week she slept with several wealthy merchants she gathered enough coin to buy a trip on the next boat back to Denerim.  A templar tried to interrogate heronce she came back home to the alienage. Shraeya turned the tables on him she slept with him; She used almost every trick of her trade to keep the templar satisfied and more importantly keep her son safe.

* * *

 

Idrillas should have known his parents would take the new kid in. Unable to have children of their own they took him in without hesitation, despite the shemlin blood in his veins.

 

Back then he just upset he was stuck with a four year old that followed him _everywhere_. He can recall after Niamh living with the clan for only a week him trying to copy how he spoke even how he walked, barefoot and all. Creators help him, some days he missed those days being little kids and having a brother that followed him around and calling him ‘Dillas. Asking question after question.

“Why’s do you look differen’ from you’re mamma an’ pa?” Niamh asked Idrillas right after eating dinner with the clan.

 

“Go away.” Idrillas growled at the annoying new kid.

 

“You look all dark skinned an’ haired with roun’ ears; An’ your momma an’ pa ‘ave pointy ears an’ lightie-er skin. I wanna know! Why? P’ease?” Niamh begged.

 

“No.” Idrillas told him then tried to walk away hoping he wouldn’t be followed by the little kid.

 

“P’ease?” Niamh begged as he followed him.

 

“No!” Idrillas bit out deciding he hated his new “brother”. Creators he pestered him for most of the day about it, until momae stepped in.

 

He can recall the day they started to get along with clarity too.

 

“‘Drillas, why’s the halla’s all purplely?” Niamh asked as he watched his adoptive mother unhooked the halla from the aravel.

 

“That’s the color their fur comes in.” Idrillas told him half heartedly to get him to stop asking while he helped unload cooking pots from the aravel. Ignoring him _never_ worked, he’d tried that already.

 

“How come’s no other kid’s is nice to us?” Niamh asked later once the clan had set up camp.

 

“They think they're better than, us. They were born here in the clan, unlike you. They are all full blooded evhen, unlike me. Unlike both of us, they can claim to have ties going back the nobility of Arlathan.” Idrillas told Niamh bitterly.

 

Niamh scratched the back of his neck as he thought outloud. “Why’s that makes you better than anyone? Just ‘cause your momma’s momma’s all special…Don’t make you all special. Ev'rybody's their own person.” _The new kid wasn’t so bad after all_ ... _Even if he did ask too many questions_. Idrillas decided.

 

“Want to learn how to play josh‘arrra’cala?”

 

“Sure!” Niamh answered with a grin.

 

“What’s josh’arri’calla mean?”

 

“I dunno…” Idrillas told him with a shrug. “It’s fun though! Papa taught it to me. Wait here. I’ll get the playing stones!” Idrillas ran to get the bag of stones in the aravel leaving Niamh outside waiting for him to comeback.

 

A tall raven haired and beige skinned girl elf with light brown eyes came over. She held her head high and walked with an authority uncommon for her age. “I’m Niamh! Wanna play with me and ‘Drillas?”

 

“Didn’t say you could talk to me flat ears.” She glared.

 

“You’re mean. My momma says mean people don’ get ‘nough hugs. Wanna hug?” Niamh took a step to try to hug the grumpy, dark haired girl.

 

She shoved him away with a disgusted shriek. “Never touch me again! I’ll tell the Keeper you’re rabid and you bit me!”

 

Niamh pointed his finger at Solani.“You're a mean person! An’ I don’t like you!” Then he stuck out his tongue at her...Just so she knew he was serious.

 

Idrillas came back out a wide grin on his face. “I found the stones for josh‘arrra’cala now we just need to make holes in-” Idrillas’ rust colored eyes narrowed once he saw Solani. “Solani, shouldn’t you be wedged up the elder's butts?”

 

“Shem’len _,_ give me your toys or I’ll tell the my Papae you’re bulling us again.” Solani demanded.

 

“Just because your Papae’s a hahren doesn’t give you the right to everything you want!” Idrillas gripped the leather bag of josh‘arrra’cala stones tighter.

 

“Yeah!” Niamh added, mainly just to be included with whatever the big kids were talking about.

 

“Give me the rest of your toys you hid from me!” Solani pushed Idrillas.

 

“No!” Idrillas shoved her back.

 

“Do it or I’ll beat the flat ears up! And tell my dad you did it.” Solani threateningly pointed at Niamh.

 

“You're bluffing!” Idrillas declared.

 

She punched Niamh landing a hit on his cheek or he at least it though so the flash of bright yellow light made it hard to tell what happened.

 

Then Niamh was cried as he held his cheek. Solani screamed and cried too holding her hand. Her thumb was badly broken. It looked like it did when she had broken it years ago: bent backwards _,_ swollen, she screamed less about it back then. _She so dramatic._ Idrillas thought as he rolled his eyes.

 

Idrillas’ mother Talrasha came rushing to them first, followed by his father Enansal. Haharen Koltira Solani’s father naturally came running when he heard his daughter was screaming blood _-_ curdlingly loud.  

 

Keeper Deshanna walked over, a calming aura radiated around her. Hearthmistress Illia followed closely behind, to check the children and see if they needed to be tended too.

 

“Want to talk about what happened, da’len?” Enansal asked as he knelt to get a better look at Niamh.

 

“Solani’s mean ‘cause she doesn' get ‘nough hugs! But she wouldn' lemme  hug ‘er, ‘cause she thinks I‘ave flat ears!” Niamh managed to both tattle and bawl in the way only a four year old could.

 

“ _I see_.” Talrasha said not bothering to hide her disdain for Koltira and his effects on his daughter's views.

 

She then spoke in a calm and soothing motherly voice to her beloved adopted son of twelve years. “Idrillas da’len, perhaps you can enlighten us on what happened. You are the only one not crying.”

 

Koltira seethed. He had lost his wife to shemlen bandits! Now they even invaded his own clan! Like a parasite. “ _It's obvious what happened!_ Deshanna, you let that _half-breed_ into the clan! I refuse to keep up this charade! I told you then keeping him would lead to nothing but disappointment, and violence. You can't fight the nature of his _shemlen blood_!” He informed his aunt who was only ten years older than him. 

 

Idrillas stepped backwards away from Koltira and towards his adoptive parents. His mother embraced him openly, a wordless assurance that he was loved, and accepted.

“Koltira, _enough_.” Deshanna commanded as she tapped her elegantly carved ironwood stave decorated with raven feathers, hand carved malachite, and candle quartz beads on the ground.  “Your ire blinds you. See that it does not spread to poison other’s views as well. Or I shall appoint another elder to teach the children in your stead.” Keeper Deshanna admonished her nephew.

 

Just because he was an elder and a relative didn’t make him above reproach far from it in her eyes. He was to be held a much higher standard, one he was far from living up too. “Idrillas da’len just explain whatever happened to me; _While_ _Koltira takes a walk to calm himself.”_

 

Koltira snorted and stomped off, Illia sighed and shook her head. _Even at their age they still act like oil and water. Creators, somedays it was a miracle they hadn’t killed each other._

“I went to get the stones to show Niamh how to play josh‘arrra’cala, when I came back Solani tried to take my stones because she found out I didn’t give her all my toys. She pushed me, I didn’t give the stones so she hit Niamh, a really bright flash of light happend. Then they were both crying and stuff.” Idrillas explained as fast as he could in one breath.

“I’ve finished setting Solani’s thumb. Quite odd really, her thumb broke in the exact way it did when she got it caught under a barrel. She wouldn’t have been able to do that much damage to her thumb just by throwing a punch.” Illia stated as she stood back up and dusted off her robe.

“Is what Idrillas told us true Solani?” Keeper Deshanna asked. Solani nodded meekly in return.

 

The Keeper told Solani. “Da’len everything we do, every choice we make affects not only us but everyone around us. You hurt your hand and Niamh but many others were hurt too: Your father, who is now sick with worry. Idrillas who you pushed and toys took from. You hurt Talrasha and Enansal who have always been kind to you. We need to all work together to bring our civilization to the glory it once was. We can’t accomplish anything by fighting with each other. Now run along da’len, tell your father you are fine.”

 

“Niamh, da’len how did your magic first manifest?” Keeper Deshanna asked.

“What’s mayais-fest mean?” Niamh red eyed and puffy cheeked but no longer crying asked.

“Manifest means when something becomes known that wasn’t known before. So what happened that made your mom find out you are a mage?” Keeper Deshanna explained then rephrased her query.

“I turned myself orange.” Niamh said like it was not abnormal in the slightest for anyone mage or not to become orange. _Idrillas still found it hard to believe._

“ _Orange_? Now that is an oddity.” Illia hummed intrigued. “What was happening at the time? When you turned orange.”Illia asked.

“Mamma was really sad. I wanted ‘er to be happy so I tried really ‘ard to cheer ‘er up. Nothin’ was working, then I got all orange.”

Illia and Deshanna both looked at each other. “Despite how young he is...perhaps we should start teaching him some basic spell, before he reaches the traditional age.” Keeper Deshanna purposed.

“Instead of just teaching him control his magic first? Seems a bit reckless.” Illia spoke then realised the keepers idea. “You intend to start teaching him earlier, than traditionally waiting until they can recite at least large of our portion history.” She teasingly added. “You never were one for tradition if it didn’t suit your needs.”

“Yes, I suppose I wasn’t. Why old Keeper Uvun’varlas made me his first I may never understand.” Deshanna admitted to her old friend.

“Because unlike you ma’falon. I realized being a keeper was more trouble than it was worth.” Illia smiled back.

“Can you teach me after I learn to play  josh’arri’calla?” Niamh asked bumbling over the evhen pronunciation of the game.

“Of course, we will begin teaching you tomorrow.” Keeper Deshanna patted Niamh’s bright blonde hair and smiled before she and Illia both walked off talking about magic.


	6. A brother’s recollection : part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idrillas continues to ruminate on the past.

Idrillas’ and Niamh had made few friends amongst the other clan members years ago when he was his thirteen years of age. Niamh had more success than Idrillas due in large part to being a full blooded elf.

 

The strongest friendships they made with Ciel and Hauen. Ciel was two years younger than Niamh. Ciel had silverite hair, very pale skin and golden-green eyes. He was so pale made Niamh look well tanned even though he was fair skinned. When those two got together the end up getting into the oddest antics.  

 

Hauen looked plain with muddy brown hair and oaken skin. Hauen wasn’t remarkable in any particular way back then, other than his good temperament and humor; Hauen ended up being the Craftmaster’s apprentice. Even today he and Hauen are still on good terms.

 

_One time Niamh and Ciel once brought a black bear cub to camp!_ A black bear cub followed swiftly by a very pissed off mother. Creators! Mythal herself must have been aiding the clan that day! The mother bear only mauled at an aravel for a few moments, she then took a whole crate of dried dried meat and left baby bear bouncing close behind her.

Hauen being in between his own age and that of his brother’s was a very welcome companion particularly after Niamh was forbidden for the rest of the year to go out into the forest without an adult. Honesty,  why did bring a bear cub home seem like a good idea to them?  

* * *

 

Idrillas, received his vallaslin at fourteen years of age. Remarkably young compared to the age when everyone else received their vallaslin. He was still too young to have his own aravel, but he had exceeded everyone's expectations. He hoped foolishly at the time it would earn him acceptance within the clan members. It earned him little, other than tolerance and a small amount of respect.  He hoped then that it was only a matter of time back then.

 

Hope was a fragile thing Idrillas learned, it shattered leaving many broken or bitter. He was nineteen, and foolishly smitten. He and Solani had developed an unspoken truce. Later his defense of the clan during a raid of mercenaries had sealed a friendship. Their friendship became _more_.

Solani sang a courtship song to him once, after he sang a few to her. She sang a horribly out of tune song. Idrillas never expected her tone deaf singing to be one of the most lovely things he heard. She cared for him and he did in return...It made it even harder, the realization. Unless at least nine people died including Koltira, he would never be able to bond with her.

She bonded at her father's behest, to _Fen’an_. The ever bumbling, poorly skilled Fen’an. Even after all these years Solani still looks at him with longing. He no longer feels as resentful as he used to…His ire had shifted to focus on the source of his brother's suffering rather than his own selfish wallowing.

Niamh by that point was a young teenager, he even had Panelana inviting him to do one thing or another, she fancied Niamh. His little brother had no insight as to why she had become so intent on spending time with him. Idrillas had thought at the time it was just Niamh being clueless as many his age were.

Years later, in hindsight perhaps Niamh did know, just didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

Niamh was seventeen years of age when he received his vallasen. _It was miracle, he managed to kill anything, let alone a boar_ …That said he did kill said boar by: _“Accidentally exploding the poor boar’s ribcage out of it’s body.”_

Shortly thereafter Niamh tried to court Ciel.  Niamh had been _his_ best friend for almost a decade they were inseparable… Until he tried to court Ciel. The friendship ended after that.  

Idrillas never knew what happened when Niamh tried to court Ciel. At the time he’d been so incensed about his brother courting a man. _He could have bonded and had children instead he threw that away._ Why was that all he cared about then? He should have been a better brother...been there for him.If he’d been more understanding of the fact Niamh _was only attracted to men_ , instead just being frustrated his brother could have what he couldn't: _A wife, a family within the clan_...Then maybe all this suffering would have never have happened.

Niamh was a heartbroken young man without his childhood best friend. Perhaps that was why he fell so hard and fast someone more than twice his age, If he and Ciel continued to be friends... If Ciel had still been there for Niamh this might not have happened.

 

Nonetheless Idrillas knew he was more responsible than Ciel. Ciel had a reason to avoid Niamh, his only reason to avoid his own brother was just his own envy.

When Anarthe took interest in his brother, no one really thought much about it. The two had appeared to be falling for each other, despite the large age difference between them or the fact that two men couldn't provide the next generation of clan members.

 

The Keeper’s shy second and a hunter and rear guardian for the clan. If he visited his brother more instead of training the elvhen cousins that sought to join, he might have been able to save his little brother. It was a harsh reminder that even though the clan was a tight community they could still hide secrets away from one another.

 

When the clan had  finally learned of what Anarthe had done and what he planned many had voted in favor of killing him. Keeper Deshanna banished him, but she permitted the hunters to find and kill him provided Niamh did not know. Idrillas volunteered first among the clan to attempt to hunt him down with his bow and a quiver of arrows. His two best axes sharpened, until the edge deadly and would sever flesh to the bone even with slight effort. He stalked the forests, valleys and plains for two months. Two months and he had only managed to find a week old abandoned fire pit.

 

It was maddening to say the least… When he did finally give up the hunt long after the others he came back to camp. Niamh was nothing like himself. He was quiet, quick to jump at noises and he cried often. And never spoke a single word unless prompted to.

 

If felt like an eternity had passed before his little brother said anything other than “Ir abelas” to him.  “Can we play a game of josh’arri’calla?” Was the first thing he said. A simple game had never felt like such a great accomplishment. Idrillas let him win.

 

Time passed and eventually Niamh got better he became more stable, sane. Niamh had taken an interest in learning about gathering food and medical plants. Illia had began to teach him about crafting healing potions and different types of salves and poultices.

 

Niamh also crafted his own staff with Hauen’s help, made of ironwood simply shaped from a fallen branch one too thin to make armor out of. It held several inlays of different stones azurite, black jasper and banded amethyst crystals. It made Niamh look happy when he wielded it.

 

Niamh had eventually began to seem more himself. Idrillas noticed he observed more than he had before, ever wary of sudden invasions of his personal space but he no longer flinched when touched. Niamh expressed an interest in attempting to find his birth mother. The Keeper let him go provided he spy on the events of the templar and mages first.   

 

When the clan heard whispered that his brother had survived the explosion at conclave and the shemlen were calling him the Herald of Andraste; Idrillas knew Anarthe would return to attempt to control his brother. This time, he would decapitate him before he could even reach him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was wondering the names was Faen’dal Talrasha and Koltira  
> Faen’dal- Faendal from Skyrim. Talrasha- Tal Rasha from Diablo 2. Koltira- Koltira Deathweaver from World of warcraft


End file.
